Hungering for Perfection
by kitkat411
Summary: A Franziska story, a lot deeper then my other story. But I guess Franziska is a lot deeper then Isabel.
1. Chapter 1

Hungering for Perfection:

A Franziska von Karma Story

By: KitKat411

For me, Franziska is one of the most interesting people in the story. (Actually, my friends who have played this game constantly tell me that I _act_ like Franziska, so that is another motive for me to like and write about her.)  
This is somewhat of a personal story, but not completely. (Obviously, as I do not personally know Miles Edgeworth, Phoenix Wright, Maya Fey, etc…) I'm not fishing for compliments here, but any would be appreciated. Criticisms and critiques are also welcomed, but nothing like, "You faker! You know nothing about eating disorders! Why the hell are you writing a story about them?!?!?"

Oh, if you couldn't tell by the title, yes, this story has eating disordered themes. Like I said, though, it's somewhat of a personal story, so I do know what Franziska goes through.

I'm not promoting eating disorders, so if you want a "pro-ana/mia" site, look elsewhere. Rather, I just decided to let my feelings go. It has been a year since I entered counselling, and I've made (if I do say so myself) remarkable progress. I just wanted to let all my feelings go into this story, so I wasn't the only one feeling them anymore. (Sorry Franziska.) So much of my eating disorder was based on the feeling of "loneliness," and I didn't want to be alone with my feelings anymore.

So here they are.

Read away.

Sorry that this "Author Note" is so long.

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Franziska von Karma drummed her fingers against the plastic table in front of her, irritated. The flight from Germany to America had not been kind thus far, and Franziska doubted it would change anytime soon.

BANG.

Franziska's eyes widened, her back throbbing in pain. Oh yes, how had she forgotten the spastic three-year-old with the kicking issues? Franziska ran her fingers over her whip longingly, but restrained herself. Some entertainment would have to be saved for later in the flight, after all.

At that instant, a woman dressed in an old, worn out uniform appeared at her side. "Hello, little girl!" The perky woman said. "Would you like to see the kid's menu?"

Franziska shot her a withering look. Franziska's face had been plastered across international news ever since that last case concluded. Could this woman _really_ not know who she was?

"I am Franziska von Karma!" She announced loudly to the woman, who jumped slightly in fright. "I have been a prosecuting attorney for five years, ever since passing the bar exam at thirteen! I am perfect, you fool! I am eighteen-and-a-half years old! Why would _I_ need a children's menu?!?"

The woman recoiled slightly, exactly the result Franziska wanted. "Now, fool!" She exclaimed. "Bring me wine!"

The woman glared at Franziska for a moment, and then disappeared. She reappeared a few moments later, brandishing a glass of chardonnay. She dropped it rudely on the plastic table and left, muttering to herself about spoiled children.

Franziska scowled, and stared at the chardonnay. It stared back, mocking her for being two-and-a-half years younger then the so-called "American drinking age." She had been drinking wine with dinner for five years ago, ever since she passed the bar exam.

Franziska sipped the wine slowly, letting the chardonnay slide through her mouth before swallowing. She made a face, and put the wine down. That was the most foolishly foolish _thing_ that had ever crawled down her throat.  
CRACK!

The stewardess limped over, massaging her leg where Franziska's whip had struck it. "What the hell are you playing at?!?!?!?!" She screeched, causing the other first-class passengers to stare in surprise.

"Fool." The word slipped out of Franziska's mouth like a venomous snake. "Get. That. Thing. Off. My. Table.

Now."

The stewardess removed the offending beverage, and Franziska's eyes closed. It was a long flight to America, and she deserved a little nap.

_Franziska's Dream_

**(A/N: I don't know if I'm supposed to write "Franziska's Dream," "Franziska's Flashback," etc., but I do. Go with it.)**

_Franziska entered her father's study, a room largely unfamiliar to her. She was only summoned her if she were in trouble, which never happened. The other hours of the day were spent either studying in the library or sleeping in her bed._

_Study. Sleep. Repeat. That had been her life for more years then she could remember. It had been drilled into her head that she was to be perfect, that a von Karma was __always__ perfect._

_So now she stood in front of her father's desk, holding the open envelope that showed her perfection._

"_Father," she said, losing her commanding tone for a more respectful one. "My bar exam results are in."_

_Manfred von Karma looked up, staring at her with his piercing eyes. "And? How did you do?"_

_She looked down. "Well, Father."_

"_Perfectly?"_

"_No, Father. But I passed. The exam was rather difficult, much more so then I expected."_

"_So you are average, Franziska." His quiet voice was deadly and cold, and Franziska desperately wished for her father to yell at her. If he did, she could at least be angry at him. Now, however, all she felt was a wave of shame._

"_Average, Franziska. All that time spent studying, and you are not perfect. You are not a prodigy, Franziska. No different then any other lawyer in the room. You aren't special, or perfect, or a phenomenon. Average, nothing more. You do not deserve to be a von Karma." He looked down and shuffled papers around on his desk._

"_Now get out."_

_Franziska left, not letting her father see the lone tear fall down her face. Even after all the physical slaps Manfred von Karma doled out, his words always left the biggest scar. _

"_You are average, Franziska. Nothing more." His words still echoed in her head._

_Without meaning to, Franziska found herself in front of the library. Even though she was exhausted, Franziska made herself enter, pull out a book, and study. Biting back tears, she began to take notes, carefully copying out page after page of text._

"I will be perfect."

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Ok, sorry I haven't written anything about her eating disorder yet. Sorry this chapter is so short. I have it written here in my notebook, but for some reason, I can't bring myself to "publish" it. Maybe the memories are still too raw. Maybe I'm just too tired.

Should I continue? I can…if you want to read it. Review, and tell me.


	2. Chapter 2

Hungering for Perfection

By: KitKat411

Hello again. Yes, I have decided to continue…

(To LazyCatfish: Well, now that I know I'm doing it for you…)

Anyway, I promise this Author's Note won't be as long as the other one. I just wanted to say something first, though:  
I have almost one hundred hits on this story! Okay, so a lot of them are me looking at this in pride, (and a bit of humiliation) but almost one hundred is almost one hundred.

I just wanted to say thank you. If I had one hundred people talking to me last March, none of this would have ever happened, so…thanks.

And now, off with the story!

PS. This is more of a story of Franziska, and not of the actual game of "Phoenix Wright: Justice for All." And as such, some of the ideas (ie, timing and other things) do not always make sense. Just wanted to let you know, and don't tell me this, because I already know.

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As Franziska left the airport terminal, people stopped to stare at her. Or rather, they stared at her hands, and at the whip curled around them.

CRACK!

"Fools!" Franziska cried impatiently. "Move!" Ever since being awoken from her slumber, Franziska was very short-tempered. She didn't like that dream, especially when she had already dreamt the same dream every night for the past month.

And so, as always, she took out her anger on the innocent bystanders. Cracking her whip again, she strolled effortlessly through the crowd, watching as everyone moved to let her pass. Franziska laughed, moving towards the baggage carousel. Now only were they fun to wield, but whips were also highly convenient things too.

Upon reaching said carousel, Franziska waited for her luggage. American airports were so inefficient, really. She was about to complain to the manager, -or whomever passed for the manager in this sham of a transportation center. But then she spotted her black leather suitcase, and so she grabbed it off of the baggage carousel. She wheeled her suitcase outside and stood in the hot Los Angeles sun, waiting for a taxi.

One pulled up to the curb soon enough, but not fast enough for Franziska's tastes. She pulled out a well-worn, creased paper and handed it wordlessly to the driver. He looked at eh address written there, nodded, and began to drive, getting immediately caught in LA traffic. Franziska, noticing this, scowled and stared out the taxi's window. Why were the American cars going so slowly? Foolish fools. She would practically be dead by the time she reached her destination!

In due course, the taxi pulled up in front of an elegant, red-brick house. Franziska sneered, noting how the lawn was carefully mowed and the bushed trimmed. She exited the taxi -paying only with another crack from her whip-and walked up the brick driveway to the front door.

Before entering, however, all Franziska could do was stare at the door. Even in the sporadic moments where she allowed herself to dream, she had never imagined herself here. Here, at this door, for this purpose. She mustered her courage and cracked the door with her whip. "Little brother!" She cried loudly. "Open up!"

She waited a moment, and whipped the door again. Instead of hitting the door, however, she hit Miles Edgeworth, who looked severely annoyed.

For a moment, Franziska looked at her "younger brother." He looked so different from the time when they had parted last. He was still wearing his magenta pants, but was wearing a grey turtleneck, which matched the silver highlights in his hair.

"Franziska." Her name was spoken deliberately, softly. "What are you doing here?"

"Little brother!" Her voice was loud and pompous. "I have come to avenge the von Karma name! Now it is up to me to do this. And while doing that, I will be staying here."

"You will? This is my private residence."

"You barged in on _my_ private residence fifteen years ago, Miles. All I am doing is returning the favor. Now, where do I sleep?"

Edgeworth sighed, realizing that this was one battle that he wasn't going to win. "Come along Franziska. My spare room is through this hallway."

Franziska followed him, and admired Edgeworth's house. It was almost unnaturally tidy; almost as clean as Franziska's house. The large and spacious foyer was bare, giving it a cold, unwelcoming feeling. Franziska could see the kitchen also, and the stainless steel appliances were cold and unforgiving.

Just like their family.

Upon entering the guest room, however, Franziska was forced to recant her thoughts. The room was very pink. The walls, the bedspread, even the curtains were dusted with a light shade of rose. Franziska raised her eyebrows slightly. She placed her suitcase on the light pink dresser and laughed at how out of place it looked. Black and pink did not go together.

"This room…is satisfactory." Franziska looked down at the suitcase a moment more. Pink…and black. They really did _not_ go together.

Edgeworth frowned at her. "Good. Glad it suits your tastes. Now I have cases to review, and you should sleep. I'll see you tomorrow morning then. Good night."

Franziska sighed, finally letting the jetlag overwhelm her. She changed out of her "traveling clothes," pulled on pajamas, and crawled into the awkwardly pink bed. She closed her eyes, annoyed at how often she was falling asleep.

_Franziska's Dream: Part Two_

_It had been a disastrous dew months, ever since Franziska had retaken the bar exam last July. It was August now, and Franziska had received her new scores in the mail. She knew she had done well, but there was now a slight complication._

_Namely, her little brother, Miles. Miles had taken the test in February, just like Franziska. Unlike Franziska, however, Miles had received a perfect score._

_Of course he had. Foolish prodigy of a son. Fool._

_But now it was her turn to shine. Finally, she too would be a prodigy._

_That night, Franziska again entered her father's study. "Father," she repeated, "my bar exam scores arrived today."  
Manfred von Karma again looked up at his daughter. "And?"_

_Franziska's expression was bursting with pride. "A perfect score, Father."_

_For a moment, Manfred looked pleased. "Finally, Franziska. Now, what do you wish for?"_

Freedom._ The word popped into Franziska's head, but she shook it out impatiently. "What do you mean?" She asked instead._

"_Well, Miles received his first suit upon passing the bar exam." Manfred explained. "What do you wish for?"_

_Franziska scowled. OF course Miles passed first. Foolish, foolish, foolish fool. If only she could have her way with him! He would be sorry. Oh, how he would pay…_

"_So?" Her father asked her. "What do you desire most?"_

_Franziska gave her father an evil grin. "A whip."_

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Mwah ha ha ha. Sorry to be so evil, but I've personally always wondered how Franziska got a whip. I mean, seriously. Who gives a young girl a whip?

Anyway, I had another chapter attached to this one, but it would have been really, really long. So instead of doing that, I've split them into two separate chapters. I'm making you click the little button to get to the next chapter, as opposed to just adding it here.

And people say I don't know how to get revenge…

Anyway, click away!


	3. Chapter 3

Hungering for Perfection: Chapter Three

By: KitKat411

Author's Note: Actually, I don't have one, as I am submitting this chapter roughly two hours after my second chapter. In those hours, I've done my physics homework and watched _"Grey's Anatomy."_ Do you want me to write an Author's Note about light and optics? Or about McDreamy and McSteamy?

I didn't think so. Now, on with Chapter Three!

Actually, I lied. I do have something to say. Before, this story has been very "traditional angst." However, this chapter…well, it goes a different direction.

(Let's just say I have finally dragged up enough courage to tell about her eating disorder.)

If, however, you don't want to read about that kind of thing, stop reading here. Go and read, "He Loves You, He Loves You Not," which is my little romantic "puff piece."

Also, if you like Edgeworth, leave now and read above story. Not that I don't love him also, but he's an ass in this chapter. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Also, just a special shout-out to LazyCatfish: Your comment was really sweet, and it meant a lot. I know I sound like a Hallmark card, but it really meant a lot. (And I thought I'd put this is in the Author's Note, since you're the one that told me that people actually DO read these! I just hope you read this one...)

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Franziska woke up the next morning, dazed and confused. The sun hadn't yet begun to light up her room, but that was no surprise. Even jetlagged, Franziska beat the sun awake.

Shivering suddenly-Miles's spare room seemed to be deprived of a heater- Franziska slipped a robe on and walked into the kitchen. She took out a coffee bag, and looked in the pristine kitchen for a coffee maker. She found one eventually, and make two cups of coffee: one for her now, and one for her later.

Miles could make his own tea.

Taking her coffee, Franziska sat on a hard silver chair in front of a shiny silver table. Sipping her coffee, she thoughtfully stared around the kitchen. What was she going to do today? In her haste to reclaim the family's honor, she hadn't imagined what to do next. Could she ask her little brother for help?

At that moment, said little brother entered the kitchen. He was dresses-again-in his magenta suit, but was missing his cravat. He was also carrying a bag of pastries, which he place neatly on the table. Miles took Franziska's second cup of coffee and pulled out a chair.

"Thanks you for the coffee, Franziska."

"Don't, little brother. It wasn't for you."

"Oh." Their silences were nearly always like this: awkward, not comfortable. Ever since Miles left for America, is seemed as though they wouldn't talk to each other as they used to. She couldn't seem to forgive him for leaving Germany.

And for leaving her.

Absentmindedly, Franziska took a pastry out of the bag and began munching on it softly. The doughnut really wasn't very good, but Franziska needed to do _something_ with her hands. "So, Miles," Franziska said, trying to fill the overwhelming silence, "what are you doing today? Did you want to do something together?"

"I'm working, Franziska. I don't' have time baby-sit you. Why don't you stay here and unpack? You can come into the office and start tomorrow."

Franziska took another doughnut, trying not to let he hurt of Miles's verbal slap show on her face. "Fine. I'll stay here and make hamburgers for when you come back." Franziska sighed to herself. She must be desperate if she was offering to make hamburgers, Miles's favorite food. Franziska didn't even like hamburgers.

"No, thank you." Miles's voice was interrupting Franziska's daydreams. "If you want to help me, I have some filing that you can do. Besides, I won't be here for dinner."

Franziska, without realizing it, took an additional doughnut. "Why not? Do you have a date?" She smiled at the absurdity of it, and wanted Miles to smile also.

"Yes." Franziska nearly spit out her coffee. "I'm taking Chief Prosecutor Skye out for dinner, and we probably will not be back until late."

"Oh. Right then."

Miles pushed his chair back and stood up. "Well, I'd better be off. The filing is in my study, if you get to it. Good day." He walked out of his tome, closing the door and locking it behind him.

Franziska took the remaining doughnuts and flopped angrily onto her bed. She ate doughnut after doughnut, and cursed to herself. "Foolish doughnuts," she muttered. "Foolish pink, foolish America, foolish foolish Lana foolish Skye. Foolish Miles, you foolishly foolish fool! To perfect for your big sister, Miles? Well, fool, you'll be sorry. I will surpass you! I _will_ best you, and Lana Skye, and any other foolish fools who are foolish enough to stand in my way!" She stood up, and felt her dress becoming overly tight. She was full, uncomfortably so. She was filled with Miles's doughnuts, filled with hate for her younger brother and his perfect girlfriend. She was filled with the pressure upon her to be perfect, and she was filled with the uncertainty that came with that expectation. Most of all, however, she was tired of being full. She was tired of feeling filled with things that were not hers to feel.

Franziska von Karma walked into the bathroom, almost unaware of what she was doing. She leaned over the toilet, pressed two fingers down her throat, and emptied herself of her fullness.


	4. Chapter 4

Hungering for Perfection

By: KitKat411

**Author's Note:**

**To my readers: Thanks for reading this far. I know I've said this before-and don't worry, I'll keep saying it-but it really means a lot to me. (Also, it's really nice that I can say "to my readers." I feel like J.K. Rowling, or something. As asinine as that sounds, anyway…)**

**Heh. I just clicked on "asinine" to get a synonym for it, and guess which word came up? Foolish. Heh heh heh. (Ok, so I have a strange sense of humor…)**

**Also, to Lu Vox: You're right, Franziska really does have an interesting background. Phoenix Wright: Justice for All doesn't really provide a lot of information, so I have a lot of flashbacks in here. Besides, it's also fun to picture Franziska as a little girl.**

**And with these really random statements, I present Chapter Four!**

**Actually, one more statement of randomness. This chapter, to those who have-luckily-never been in Franziska's (or my…) position might think that parts of this chapter are awkward, unlikely. However, it really does happen like this. The calm before the storm, you could say. Anyway, continue. **

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After realizing what she had done, Franziska's mind was numb. She closed the toilet, flushed, and washed her hands. Oddly enough, her mind was not racing, her thoughts not flying at the speed of light. On the contrary, she felt nothing. She felt pure, clean. She felt as if she could start again with her life; she felt relieved. After disposing of the contents of her stomach, Franziska strangely felt as if she could begin anew.

She entered the kitchen and stared at the clock in surprise. Could it really have been only thirty minutes since she had last seen Miles? She felt so much different, so much older, somehow. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the table, planning out what to do for the rest of the day. She would unpack, yes, and take a bath. But what to do next? Franziska refused to do Miles's filing-if he wanted an assistant, he could hire a maid.

Instead, Franziska decided, she would pay a visit to the courthouse. She would see if this Phoenix Wright-the man who had brought her father down-was defending a client. She would watch him defend his client, and she would learn his secrets. Then, when she did face him in court, she would know his weaknesses. Then, she would be able to hit him hard and fast.

Pleased with her decision, Franziska headed into the bathroom, where she began to run the water for a bath. While waiting for the water, Franziska thought more about her little brother. He hadn't always been this cold, this hateful towards her. Franziska sighed, climbed into the bathtub, and tried to remember the last time she had seen Miles.

_Franziska's Flashback_

_Miles's face was wet with tears-it was the only time Franziska had ever seen her little brother cry. She looked down awkwardly, a mixture of anger and shame spreading through her body._

_"It's better this way, Fran, really. You've already passed the bar exam; you don't need me anymore."_

_Franziska stayed silent. How could she explain her feelings to Miles? How could se explain that she __did__ need him? Much as she had hated him, loathed him, despised him for always being more perfect then she…_

_…He was her brother. He was the one who protected her from Manfred von Karma, who occasionally took the brutal falls for her. He was the one who had tutored her through the most difficult of cases, who poured the antiseptic on the results of her father's beatings. Even though he was technically seven years younger, Miles and she were always inseparable._

_So how could she tell him not to go? Without begging, of course. She couldn't lose every shred of dignity she had, especially when he had already seen her arms and legs covered in bruises and scars._

_So she said nothing to him, opting instead for narrowing her eyebrows and glaring at Miles. He attempted to hug Franziska, but she remained stiff and unyielding. She knew he was going to leave her, leave her for the gloriousness of America._

_And there was nothing she could do to stop it._

_Hugging her tightly, Miles whispered in her ear. "Be perfect for me, Franziska."_

Franziska's head jerked up sharply, spraying bath foam on the tiled floor. She blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to focus. She hadn't dragged up that memory in many months now, though she had a nasty habit of remembering awful things at inconvenient moments.

Shaking her head in an attempt to rid herself of the memory, Franziska got out of the bathtub and returned to her room. She looked through her suitcase and pulled out her "traditional court outfit": a white dress with ruffles, black boots, and her ever-present whip. She noticed her dress was very tight, tighter then normal, and she frowned in annoyance. What was the matter with her? She hadn't eaten anything in the past day except for those doughnuts, and they were in the waste department of the greater Los Angeles area.

Franziska eyebrows frowned in annoyance. She had planned on getting a sandwich at a café she had passed on the way to Miles's house, but that was out of the question now. She decided to just order a light salad-at least until her dresses fit again.

Suddenly Franziska was hit with an idea of brilliance. (Or rather, she was hit with _yet another_ idea of brilliance.)

She would simply not eat, or significantly reduce her food intake. Her dresses would fit again, but most of all, she would be perfect. When she was finally perfect-perfect in mind _and_ body-Miles would finally notice her. He wouldn't blow her off, or leave her, or treat her as an inferior. He would instead love her, just as she had loved him for all these years.

"Miles," she whispered to herself, "you told me to be perfect for you.

_So I will."_

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**Author's Note: Yes, yes, nothing **_**really**_** happened this chapter, if you want to split hairs. However, I have another chapter for ya'll soon, as soon as I decide that I'm awake enough to type it.**

**However, this chapter does move Franziska away from bulimia and "into" anorexia, which was my "drug of choice." I was an (God it feels nice to use the past tense) on-and-off (mostly on) anorexic for about three and a half years, from seventh grade to about four months ago. Now, I'm still in therapy, but I'm doing well.**

**But will Franziska? (Dun dun dun.) I guess you'll just have to wait until next chapter…when I'm not feeling lazy and refuse to type. However, next chapter will be a lot longer. Right now, it's six pages in my notebook, and this chapter was three. So it's a little more then twice the length of this chapter. **

**Patience-and reviews )-will be rewarded!**


	5. Chapter 5

Hungering for Perfection

By: KitKat411

**Author's Notes: So, I just came back from my soccer tournament, and I look like a strawberry. (Compared to my usual albino tone, the strawberry look isn't my best.) Our team came in fourth, which was nice, but there were only four teams.**

**So we lost. Yet again. But honestly, I don't give a damn. (Oops, I swore. Deal.) We are a team of freshmen and sophomores, against teams of juniors and seniors. The odds are stacked against us, to say the least.**

**Anyway, what bothered me most was the fact that **_**we actually thought we could win**_**. There was just this huge pressure on us to win, but it was pointless. We weren't going to win-we should have just enjoyed ourselves and had a great day as a team. But this unrealistic pressure ruined our day. We were so stressed about winning that we didn't remember to have fun.**

**Pressure sucks. A friend of mine-Rachel- is taking AP Modern European History next year-as a sophomore in high school. Why would a fifteen year old be taking a college-level class? Her mother told her to. Her mother told my friend that her college résumé had to be "perfect." That if Rachel wasn't perfect, she wasn't good enough for her mother.**

**Remind you of anyone?**

**I dunno. I'll stop ranting here, but pressure isn't fun at all. I know it ruined our soccer tournament, it might ruin Rachel's sophomore year, and the "perfection pressure" took almost four years and nearly fifty pounds off my life and body.**

**Also, this "trial scene" doesn't take place in the real game. Actually, the likelihood of this trial ever happening is pretty much nonexistent. Just letting you know.**

**Thanks for reading this. I'll stop putting Author's Notes in the middle of my story.**

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A Few Weeks Later

After getting dressed, Franziska grabbed her whip and left Miles's home. She hadn't left the house since _that day_, and had felt a tad uncomfortable leaving since. Besides, it wasn't like Miles was home anyway. The fool always had cases to prosecute or evidence to forge. Fool.

But now Franziska headed to the courthouse, finally realizing her dream of seeing Phoenix Wright in court. As she passed the front table in Miles's foyer, however, Franziska grabbed onto it weakly. She was still refusing to eat all but a few "healthy" foods, and the lack of food was taking its toll on her body. She was now walking slightly slower then normal, but her dresses were feeling a little looser. _Just a few more pounds. _Franziska thought to herself. _A few more pounds, and then I'll stop._

Franizska stared out into the Los Angeles sun, and scowled. She knew Miles lived somewhere near the courthouse, but was sure exactly where. She wanted to take Miles's car, but was unsure. She was afraid her weakness would catch up to her behind the wheel, but also was still yet to become accustomed to America's silly "speed limits" and their foolish habit of driving on the wrong side of the road. _Or was that just in the United Kingdom? Tea-drinking, crumpet-eating fools. _

So she warily decided to walk to the courthouse. She still did not yet know where said courthouse was, but Franziska's logic was perfect. She would find this courthouse.

And she did find it eventually, though it took her a while. Luckily, her journey was fruitful; she learned-with the help of her whip and a man who added the word "pal" at the every sentence- that Phoenix Wright did indeed have a case today. He was defending a woman named Abby Coleman, a woman accused of murdering her husband. This should be interesting, at he very latest. Franziska slipped into the back of the courtroom and watched Phoenix Wright.

"OBJECTION!" Phoenix Wright shouted, banging his hands loudly against the desk. Franziska shuddered. _Would she really have to deal with this imperfect fool?_ No wonder Miles disliked him so.

"Ms. Coleman could not have killed her husband. She was in Moscow!"  
Franziska gritted her teeth. She could tell Wright was grasping at straws, but could the prosecution have really missed such and important detail?

The prosecution let out a heavy sigh, and Franziska noticed the attorney for the first time. The lawyer was a woman, a pretty woman in her late twenties or so. She was rail-thin and was wrapped in what looked like army clothes. She wore a red muffler, and she was playing with it as she spoke.

"Mr. Wright, Ms. Coleman's passport mentions nothing about a trip to Russia. Are you admitting that your client is an illegal immigrant?"

"Ms. Skye! My client is innocent!"  
Franziska felt her stomach plummet suddenly. _Ms. Skye_. The trial went on, but Franziska felt her heart stop and her chest tighten. She even forgot about besting Phoenix Wright and reclaiming the von Karma name.

_"I'm taking Chief Prosecutor Skye out for dinner, and we probably will not be back until late."_

This was her; the Chief Prosecutor that Miles had been spending every day with for the last three weeks. This was the woman who had taken Miles from her, who had made him seem to hate her so. Franziska felt sick. If she didn't have anything in her stomach, she _would have_ been sick. As it was, however, all Franziska could do was wait for the nausea to pass.

Franziska took another look at Lana Skye. She was pretty-it needed to be said. She was pretty, yes, but so what? She was a foolish fool.

Perfect. She was a _perfect_ fool. Lana probably had a perfect win record also, to be in the Chief Prosecutor's office.

But still, this Lana was a fool. How could Miles choose a fool over _her_, Franziska von Karma? Franziska was perfect.

"Well, nearly," Franziska said quietly to herself, feeling her dress tighten awkwardly across her stomach. She bet _Lana_ could fit into her clothes, that _Lana_ never had to worry about food as she did, that _Lana_ was a bony, but spineless, fool.

But Franziska never shied away from a challenge. She could beat this Lana Skye at her own game. She could win against this woman whom she had never spoken with. Lana would go down in flames, and Franziska would laugh. Franziska would be a beautiful and brilliant prosecutor, and Miles Edgeworth would fall at her feet.

Franziska smiled her evil grin. Yes, that was exactly what she would do. But first, Franziska wanted to watch over Lana Skye, just like Franziska was supposed to be doing at that moment.

_After all, keep your friends close and your enemies closer, no?_

But not today, Franziska decided. She would get her revenge on Lana Skye, but not right now. Right now, all Franziska wanted to do was return home, the dizziness that had began a week ago overwhelming her. Well, she wanted to return to her guest home. To _Miles's_ home.

She left the courthouse, and resumed her angry gait home. On her way there, however, Franziska passed a small café. Even knowing she would not order anything more then coffee, Franziska willingly pulled open the door. She found a small table in the corner of the dark restaurant, and sat down. She ordered a small black coffee, as planned, and stared around the room.

This place was dingy, and dimly lit. It looked more like an underground New York bar, to be honest. It was the exact opposite of any place Franziska had ever entered, but the coffee was good and-more importantly, - it was here. Besides, she was anonymous here. There was only person who even knew was in America, and he also would rather shoot himself then come into a dump like this. So she was safe here.

"Franziska!"

Franziska looked up, stunned, her body filling with a mix of shame, dread, and utter distaste. She could see Miles, and the woman next to him. She felt another wave of nausea just standing in front of them.

"Little brother," she said, ignoring Lana Skye. "What are you doing in a place like this?"

Miles shrugged. "The same question could be asked of you, Ms. von Karma. As for me, Ms. Skye wanted lunch, so I accompanied her. Ms. Skye, this is Franziska von Karma."

Lana nodded. "Manfred's daughter, no? I've heard of you, Ms. Karma. The 'perfect prosecutor.'"

"It's nearly four-thirty, a little late for lunch," Franziska said icily to her brother, deliberately ignoring Lana Skye.

Miles said nothing in reply. Lana, obviously uncomfortable, played with her muffler. Franziska watched her, and as Franziska watched, Lana dropped her muffles. As Lana bent down to pick it up, however, Franziska spied a suspicious bruise on Lana's neck.

CRACK!

"Fool!" Franziska cried, whirling on her brother. She had only hit the floor near their feet, but the two of them looked as though she had whipped them across the face.

"A hickey?" Franziska said to Miles. "I thought _you_ would have a little more dignity then that, Miles."

He stared at her, his eyes unforgiving and cold. "I do not have to explain by actions to you, Franziska, much as you would like to believe. I do not need to rationalize my behavior to an eighteen-year-old _child_."

CRACK!

Miles grabbed his face in pain, and staggered back slightly. Franziska, feeling a bit guilty about whipping her brother's face, reached forward to help her brother, but Lana Skye beat her there. As Franziska watched in horror, Lana held Miles tightly, her arms wrapping him protectively around her. Franziska looked at the two of them and felt her stomach flip over in disgust.

She looked up again, and felt Lana's eyes burning into her own. "Why don't you just leave, Franziska? I think you've done enough damage for one day."

Franziska's eyebrows narrowed. Who did this foolish woman think she was? Or who, exactly, she was talking to? "Why don't you, you foolish fool? He's _my_ brother."

Miles looked up from Lana's shoulders. "No, Lana. Franziska was just leaving."

CRACK! CRACK CRACK CRACK!

Franziska's whip flew in every direction. She noticed, smirking, that Lana was no longer helping Miles. In fact, the two of them were glaring viciously at her, while also trying to avoid the wrath of her whip. Franziska strode out of the café dramatically, leaving the two fools to pay for her half-drunk coffee. Walking into the bright Los Angeles sun, Franziska sneered. Her stomach rumbled angrily and her dizziness was overpowering, but that did not matter.

Lana Skye and Miles Edgeworth were fools. Foolish fools.

They would pay for humiliating her like this.

Oh, how they _all _would pay _dearly_ for their crimes.

And Franziska would laugh.

Because she would be perfect.

And they would be nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

Hungering for Perfection

By: KitKat411

**Author's Note: Well, I'm nearing the end of this tunnel, so to speak. I've just finished "Hungering for Perfection," and there are three (very short) chapters left to go. Unless, of course, I re-write my ending. Right now, said ending is dark, depressing…sort of like the rest of my story, to be honest. But still…Well, I don't know yet. I might actually post two endings…Mwah ha ha ha.**

**Anyway, just a quick note: You will not like this chapter. In fact, you will probably stop reading as soon as the italics start, if not before. **

**Then why, you ask, am I posting this? Well, like I said in the first Author's Note, I am reading this to tell MY story, and this chapter did happen to me. So even though this chapter is completely OOC with Franziska, it isn't with Hannah. (Which is me, if you haven't yet my profile. KitKat411 equals Hannah.)**

**So anyhow, if you don't like this chapter, don't blame me, because I warned you. If, however, you do like it, or want to say why you DIDN'T like it, or just…I dunno, then post it as a review.**

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

After returning to Miles's home, Franziska sat on her bed angrily. Her head was spinning wildly and she felt a bit light-headed. She hadn't eaten anything in the past day or so, and was feeling the "side-effects" of starving herself. She shook her head, incredulous. This was only her first month in America, and already she was longing for Germany.

Franziska entered Miles's kitchen. Knowing she couldn't go any longer without eating, she looked around for lettuce or something else to eat. Of course, knowing Miles, he had nothing but awkwardly expensive food that she didn't know how to cook. "Fool," Franziska muttered, rifling through his fridge, "can't you buy something that isn't going to cost over one hundred dollars an ounce?"

Finally finding an apple among a tin of cooked smoked salmon, she closed the fridge. Franziska munched on the apple slowly, taking her time in-between bites. She counted to the number of chews in between mouthfuls and took several deep breaths while eating.

It took Franziska nearly fifteen minutes to finish her "dinner," and it left her even hungrier then before. She stared at her stomach, unsatisfied. It looked huge to her, and it was making more sound than a dinosaur. Franziska frowned at it. Foolish thing. She had never paid much attention to her stomach before-as much attention as she paid to her spleen, to be honest.

Now, however, it seemed so grotesque. Her apple was in there somewhere, churning and rumbling, seemingly unrelated to her body.

Franziska left the kitchen, and crawled into the bed again. Even as her stomach rumbled and her vision blurred, she refused to indulge the thing that was presently digesting her apple. Instead, Franziska burst into tears. Not eating was _hard_, damn it. The dizziness, the hunger pains, the guilt that followed whenever she dared to eat…She needed help, she reluctantly admitted to herself. _Oh God,_ she thought, _please, somebody help me. I can't do this alone…_

Instead of continuing to think about her predicament, however, Franziska closed her eyes and drifted into a restless sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Hungering for Perfection

By: KitKat411

**Author's Notes: Hello, ya'll. I dunno, but I don't think I'm going to post a long Author's Note here, in this chapter. I think I'll let this part take the award for **_**'The Most Dramatic Chapter in "Hungering for Perfection."'**_

**PS. One thing: I told you so about Chapter Seven. Don't worry, however, this chapter makes sense. However, no matter HOW this chapter ends, there IS AT LEAST another chapter coming.**

**PPS. One more thing: If you have any story ideas, please let me know.**

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

_Two Months Later…_

On December 7th, Franziska woke up, as icy cold as ever. She shivered and pulled the covers tightly around her. As always lately, she had slept for as long as possible. More time sleeping meant less time awake, where she would be tempted to eat.

Speaking of eating, there was a plate of food next to her, sitting on her nightstand. She _saw_ toast and coffee, but they didn't look anything like toast and coffee to her. She had become used to tricking her mind into believing things. Now, she saw the toast as brown cardboard; tasteless and unappealing. The butter on the toast oozed into every crumb, just as all that fat would ooze into every pore of her body. Franziska recoiled from the toast, even while knowing that her little brother made it for her. The only part of the "meal" that appealed to her was the coffee, which she drank gratefully.

Franziska entered the kitchen, where she was stunned to see her little brother sitting at the kitchen table. Franziska moved to leave. What was that foolish fool doing here? He nearly always left before she woke up now.

"Don't you have better things to do then baby-sit me?" She asked him. She sat at the table, directly across from him.

"You didn't eat the toast, Franziska." His words weren't a question, so she didn't answer.

"What is the matter with you, Franziska? You haven't been eating any of the food I lay out for you, and you hide the remains from me." Glaring hard at her, he pulled out bags and bags of plastic Ziploc containers and showed them to her. They were all filled with food, some weeks old and rotting.

"What is the matter with you, Franziska?" He asked her again, losing his temper in what seemed like forever. "For the sake of everything that is holy, look at you! You shiver when it's eighty degrees out, are always wearing several layers, and have more fur then and unshaved dog! You are a walking bag of bones, Franziska."

Franziska looked down. "Fool." She muttered. She wasn't a bag of bones-couldn't he see her? She was so fat, so far from being perfect…

Miles raged on. "You've been in America for nearly three months now, and you still haven't taken a case! You stare out the window all day long, refusing to eat! I haven't heard you whip crack _once_ in the past month!"

Franziska tried to make sense of the words floating around her brain. Her mind felt sluggish, unused.

Miles's words had a ring of truth, however. Franziska hadn't taken a single case in America yet. Prosecuting had just fallen by the wayside; it wasn't important to her anymore. Her importance was now strictly to lose weight. _Just a few more pounds…_

As for her whip? She hadn't the strength to use it. Her body was too frail, too weak to do much anymore. Her body was now instead covered in fur, which always failed to keep her warm.

She frowned at her imperfections, and said nothing.

Miles, however, took her silence as insolence. Glaring at her, Miles stormed out of the kitchen. "Fine!" He cried, yanking open the front door. "Go starve yourself for all I care! Just die, Franziska, you ungrateful little bitch!" He slammed the door behind him, slamming his door with a deafening BANG, which was followed by a silence as loud as the disruption.

Franziska turned her dull and lifeless eyes toward the door. She wondered vaguely why Miles was so angry. A long time ago, Franziska would have assumed he was pining for her. Now, however, she knew better. Miles still loved Lana; he would never love someone as imperfect as she.

Franziska stood up with great difficulty, and hit her hipbone against the table. Franziska winced. She had received bruises in this apartment in the past four months alone than from her father in fifteen years. "Fool." She said quietly to herself, and smiled. The word reminded her of her past life-her life before bones and bruises.

Franziska shakily walked out of the kitchen. Her head was pounding, her heart was racing, and little sparks were going off in her head. Franziska's limp eyes widened in fear. This had never happened before, the "side-effects" had never before affected her like this. She felt Miles's carpet moving towards her, and she found herself on the floor. The sparks intensified and her heart pounded faster.

"Miles…" she whispered faintly, "I'm…sorry, Miles. I'm sorry I couldn't be perfect for you…"

The everything stopped, and Franziska gratefully fell into the endless black silence.


	8. Chapter 8

Hungering for Perfection

By: KitKat411

**Wow. It really has been a wild ride, no? I'm here, and I can't believe it's the last chapter…or is it? Mwah ha ha ha. Like I said, this is a rather **_**dark**_** ending, so I might write a "nicer," but still not "perfect," ending.**

**And to LazyCatfish: Miles is just worried about her and afraid for her...in his own-slightly clueless- way. Now that I'm posting Chapter Eight, you'll see what I mean.**

**As for "story ideas" I sort of meant for after "Hungering," but the Phoenix idea could work...evil grin.**

**And now…on with the end!**

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Miles Edgeworth entered the dingy café and looked around for Lana Skye. They hadn't been here in nearly four months, ever since the disastrous "visit" with Franziska.

Franziska. Miles sighed at the very thought of her name. He didn't lose his temper very often, but Franziska's behavior made him want to throttle her. How could she throw her life away like this?

He found Lana at "their" table and sat down. He ordered coffee and a cinnamon roll, and stared at them, dejected.

"Edgeworth. What's the matter?" Lana asked him, putting a comforting hand on his. It bothered Miles slightly that Lana knew him so well, but right now; it was exactly what he needed.

"It's Franziska." Miles said, looking at the table. "She won't eat. I'm afraid for her, Lana. She looks like death."

Lana frowned. "She has an eating disorder?"

Miles sighed. "I don't know _what_ the matter is. I don't know what's going on with her. I've been doing research on eating disorders, and Franziska doesn't fit any of the symptoms. She isn't affected by the media, she was never overweight to begin with…Lana…she's going to _die_." His voice was muffled slightly. "I can't have her die, Lana. She's my sister! I care for her. We grew up together. I…I love her."

Lana sighed also. "Oh. But what about _her_ feelings, Miles? Does she have a high self-esteem? Does she _like_ herself?"

Miles nodded. "I think so. She's always been self-confident. But what do I know? I…I left her, Lana. I left her for America. I traded in Franziska-my sister-for a better life for me. I left her behind. I guess I always have done that…even now. I've blown her off ever since she came to my house. On her first day in America, she offered to make me hamburgers. _Hamburgers_, Lana. She knows I love hamburgers. She was willing to make them for me…and I blew her off."

Miles's face, normally an albino white, went even paler. "Lana…you don't think Franziska is doing this…killing herself…because of _me_?"

Lana sighed heavily. She didn't care for Franziska, but she was obviously an important part of Miles's life. "Well, Miles, there's only one way to find out."

She ran to catch up to Miles, who was already in his little red sports car, gunning the engine noisily.

They arrived at Miles's house twenty minutes later, the time made even longer because of Miles's speeding ticket. Miles ran into the house, a red-faced, shell-shocked Lana behind him.

Miles ran violently around the house. "Franziska! Franziska? FRANZISKA?!?!?" He finally ran into the guest bedroom, and what he saw there made his blood run cold.

Franziska was there, all right. She was on the floor, curled up into a tiny ball. "Lana!" Miles screamed. "Call 911! Now!" He ran over to Franziska and held her protectively in his arms.

The first thing Miles noticed were the bones. Franziska had always been tiny, but Miles could see every rib bone, every arm bone, every leg bone protruding from Franziska's body. He felt as if he was holding a skeleton, not the great Franziska von Karma. A bag of bones, not his sister.

The second thing Miles noticed was the bitter, icy cold. Miles immediately checked for a pulse, but to his horror, found nothing. Losing his usual calm and detached composure, Miles was stunned. "Franziska!" He whispered to her, holding her even tighter. "Wake up. Oh God, please wake up. Please, Franziska. Open your eyes and crack me with your whip. Call me a foolish fool; I can take the pain, really. Just open your eyes."

Franziska didn't move, and her body quickly grew even colder. Miles noticed Franziska's face was wet, and only then did he realize that her face was soaked with tears. His tears.

"FRANZISKA!" He shouted, drowning out the wails of the ambulance speeding towards their home.


	9. Chapter 9

Hungering for Perfection

By: KitKat411

**Author's Note: Hey ya'll out there in FanFictionLand. I have one thing to say, first, however. It's a shout-out, to LazyCatfish, who has faithfully reviewed every chapter so far. It's to InviniChicken, who made the first "negative" comment on my story. (And come on, here. His sister is dying. Wouldn't **_**you**_** be a little out of character if your sister was dying?) This comment goes out to Ivy de Leon, to Emmy-Chan, to everyone who has read this story-and these Author's Notes. It's just a big thank you. It took me a while to realize a lot of things, and one of them is why I decided to write about this topic in the first place. I have finally become comfortable with being a "recovering anorexic." My eating disorder is not a jacket that I can just "shrug off." I realize that I will never be "cured": that I will still obsessively worry about my weight and calories, that I will never eat red meat or dessert after meals, and that I will panic when my pants feel even a little smaller than they did yesterday.**

**However, I know that I am in a good place right now. I am at a healthy weight-somewhere between 110 and 115 pounds- and that I am active. I eat a lot more then I did last year, but last year I barely ate four hundred calories a day. I wear a size two in women's clothes, not a size eight in children's. I am not known as the "Hannah-rexic" anymore. I'm at a brand new high school, with new teachers, a new schedule, and new friends. Here, I am "that skinny chick," but also the one who eats a lot of peanut butter and bagels. (Hell, I am finally "allowing" myself to eat peanut butter and bagels.) I am not always happy, but I am comfortable. I am at a good place with my life right now, and that's good enough for me. I am happy with who I am, for the first time since sixth grade. I have made "great progress" in the past year that I have been in therapy, and I am finally at a "good place" in my life.**

**It may not be perfect, but it's a start. A start I'm comfortable with. For once in my life, I finally look forward to my future. Hell, I finally look forward to waking up tomorrow. **

**It's taken me a while, but I have finally also realized why I have been so reluctant to publish my two endings, the "good" one and the "bad" one. On a slightly happier note, I just don't know what to write next. I've always been writing crap during school, now, however, I have nothing to write. Writer's block sucks, and it's making me pay attention in class. I have now officially taken more notes in the past week then in my entire freshman year. My grades are improving, I've been "participating" in school, and my friends tell me-oh-so-funnyily- that they can finally see my face without a notebook and pen. Why is this a problem? I DON'T LIKE WRITER'S BLOCK. SEND ME YOUR STORY IDEAS AND I SWEAR I WILL WRITE ABOUT THEM. I AM (NEARLY) DESPERATE.**

**Speaking of participating in class, however, I took place in a very intense conversation in Spanish class today. My friend Rachel, yes, Chapter Five Rachel, asked my Spanish teacher what the difference between the verb "creer" and the verb "pensar" was. My Spanish teacher replied with a question, as she is often prone to do. She asked Rachel, "**_**Rachel, crees or piensas?**_**" Translated, my teacher asked Rachel, "Rachel, do you think or do you believe?" It wasn't a very interesting question, but it got me thinking, even after Spanish and into Physics. Do people tend to think, or do we believe? I am a "right-brained" person: analytical, thinking, logical, and unforgiving. I look at the facts before making a decision, and I only see in black and white. But does that mean that I don't believe? That I can't believe?**

**What about you, oh dear reader? This is the, very short, "bad" ending, but do you believe that Franziska will live in the end? Do you think it?**

_**Crees or piensas?**_

**One more thing: There is a letter written here that is very personal to me. Let's just say that I've already written it before. All I did was change the names…**

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

The funeral was two days later, on a drizzly Monday afternoon. There weren't many people at the service; after all, only two people even knew Franziska von Karma was even in America. And yet, somehow, the press had been tipped off that the Demon Prosecutor's sister was dead, and so they hounded out the church. There were also several prosecutors at the mass, evidently there to show "support" for their peer, Miles Edgeworth. The prosecutors were very satisfied with their show of solidarity, and so were content with themselves.

Miles Edgeworth, however, was sitting in the front pew of a small church, and he was extremely uncomfortable. He had already arranged for the body-it still pained him too much to say "Franziska,"-to be returned to Germany, where it could be properly "taken care of." In fact, Miles wondered why he had even arranged a service at a mass, anyway. Miles did not believe in God- the last time he had been in a church was for the funeral of his father. Miles and God's house of worship did not get along well.

The service passed in a fast, grey blur. Words were spoken-many, many meaningless words. No words could explain Franziska von Karma, Miles was realizing. No one could explain her _drive_, her ambition, her fiery passion for prosecuting, for cracking her whip…

…For starving herself to death.

After the interment, Miles walked hurriedly from the chapel. He had successfully stopped the flow of tears, but was looking forward to being by himself at home, where he could privately collapse. As he passed by the front doors however, a man wearing doctor's scrubs and a weary expression stopped in Miles's path.

"Mr. Miles Edgeworth?"

Miles frowned, annoyed. "Yes?"

The doctor looked down, obviously uncomfortable. "Well, Mr. Edgeworth sir, I'm awfully sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." The words were curt, final. He had gotten used to repeating them over and over again, until they held little meaning to Miles.

"Well, Mr. Edgeworth, I'm the one who tried to help your girl…"

"Franziska."

"Right, Mr. Edgeworth. Franziska. But in her hand, sir, I found this." The doctor held up a small, unopened envelope. "It's addressed to Miles Edgeworth, so I tracked you down, sir. I thought that…well, sir, I thought you might want to read it."

Miles took the envelope. "Thank you."

"No problem sir. Now, if you'll excuse me…?" The doctor hurriedly left the chapel, leaving Miles and the letter alone.

Miles opened the letter slowly, cautiously. It was, indeed, addressed to him.

_Dear Miles, _**(The letter read)**

_I'm very sorry to be writing this letter, and I will be even sorrier if you have to read it. Little brother, I wanted to apologize. Yes, I know that apologizing isn't in the von Karma code of ethics, but I felt it necessary to do so anyway. _

_When you left for America, you told me to be perfect for you. At that time, you meant everything to me, brother. I wanted to emulate your "perfect behavior," and so I forced myself to push myself harder, to try more, and to be even more perfect, just because you told me so. I don't blame you for this, little brother; I wanted to explain what happened to me._

_You asked me that question this morning, Miles. You asked me, "What happened to you, Franziska?" Miles, _**I**_ happened to me. My perfection, your "order," Father's wishes, the pressure of everyone telling me who to be…it's overwhelming, little brother. I couldn't do it anymore. I felt that, if I changed my physical appearance, I could change who I was. I was so disgusted with who I was-this child who only obeyed the wishes of others. I wanted to leave that child behind, much as you left me behind. I tried to run away from my past, and yet it caught up to me. I tried to go through a metamorphosis, Miles. _

_Little by little, I would say "no" to food, and food became my control. Nothing else seemed to be going right with my life, and so saying "no" became easier and easier. I had said "yes" to so many things in my life, little brother. I said "yes" to becoming a prosecutor, "yes" to being a big sister, "yes" to being perfect every single day of my life. I was so tired of saying "yes" that saying "no" was a relief. It was a relief not to have to answer to anyone's demands but my own, little brother. It was so nice to be able to control some part of out-of-control life. I was drowning in perfection, and not eating gave m e the control I so craved._

_Ironic, isn't it Miles? I always knew I was going to end up writing this letter someday, didn't I? I chose death, and it in turn gave me existence. Starving myself gave me life. Killing myself gave me hope. Suicide gave me an excuse to wake up each morning. _

_But I digress, little brother. I did not write this letter to blame you of anything. I wrote it instead to explain myself to you, much as you wouldn't like to believe._

_Your big sister,_

_Franziska von Karma_

Miles Edgeworth read the letter three times, not believing the words on the page. She had felt like this…all this time? Had she ever had a time where suicide didn't give her joy? His feelings, so long buried, spilled over like a geyser. He walked out of the chapel and into the Los Angeles heat. He wrote a letter himself, and mailed it to the Prosecutor's Office. The office would get it in a day or so, and by that time, it would be too late.

Death had given Franziska life. If she had done it, so could he. "Franziska," Miles whispered, "I'm…so sorry."

A few days later, Detective Gumshoe received a small envelope. Curious, Gumshoe opened it, and a small paper fell delicately to the ground. Detective Gumshoe picked up the piece of paper, held it to the light, and read the neatly printed sentence on the page.

_Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death._


	10. Chapter 10

Hungering for Perfection:

By: KitKat411

**Author's Note: Well, well, well. If you're in the mood for a non-emo story, read Chapter Seven, skip Chapter Eight, and read below. This is the traditional "good" ending, and then I get to hang up my hat on this story. Wow, it'll feel weird to mark this story as "Complete." Still, though, I feel better now that I realized that I can finish a story, and that it won't completely suck. (As proved my lovely reviewers out there. Hahaha. Again, thank you so much. It really means a lot that ya'll review and read this story. To say thanks to all of ya'll, I'll bake some chocolate-chip e-cookies. Double cookies to LazyCatfish and ****Nadramon****, who wrote reviews on every chapter and gave me my longest review, respectively.)**

**But speaking of reviewers, I have one more special shout-out, to the coward who dared reviewing my story anonymously: Go fuck a moose. (Again with the swearing. Again with the dealing, people.) Coward, of **_**course**_** I wrote my story as a fictional story. Read my first Author's Note because I'm not explaining that twice. Don't like it, don't read it. **

**And the part about my "emo rants"? Well, duh, stupid. You think an eating disorder is all about fairies and butterflies? Grow up.**

**On a happier note, I have finally beaten back my writer's block. I have a new story, and the first-very short-chapter is written. I might post that too today, maybe. It depends on how much homework I decide not to procrastinate on. **

**So, here you go. The "nice and sweet" ending. Don't worry, it's **_**very**_** short. And sweet. And gag-worthy. Personally, I prefer the dark ending, but that's just my emo, cynical, twisted mind. **

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Miles Edgeworth paced. There were many things that he should have been doing right now: He had cases to prosecute, a house to upkeep, evidence to find and witnesses to badger. Still, he ignored these things. Instead, he paced.

He was walking up and down a long hospital corridor. The hallway smelled like antiseptic and death, and his shoes made soft tapping noises as he walked on the hospital's tiled floor. The nurses were watching him with admiration. This crazy man had been pacing for nearly eight hours now, ever since the ambulance had arrived with that crazily skinny girl.

Miles ignored the nurse's whisperings, if he even noticed they were there. He was too busy thinking about Franziska. He had refused to let go of her hand, even when the doctors had hurriedly arrived at his house. As such, the doctors let him clamber into the ambulance, and he had watched them try to save Franziska's life. He remembered their frantic cries of, "The heart is failing…no pulse…commence mouth-to-mouth! Damn it…still nothing…grab the defibrillator…CHARGE!"

At the hospital, Franziska had been run into an emergency room, doctors and nurses running in a calm, collected panic. The last doctor to enter the room slammed the door behind him, and Miles was stuck outside the room, pacing. He had been pacing back and forth the room ever since and now had been pacing for over seven hours. He hadn't stopped to eat, change his clothes, sleep, or excuse himself to go to the washroom. He was holding onto the childish dream that if he left her, no matter for how short of a time, Franziska would die.

The doctors and nurses began leaving Franziska's room at a little before midnight. Miles watched their faces carefully-some were exhausted, but others were distressed. Miles noticed that every doctor and nurse carefully avoided meeting Miles's eye, as if they were afraid to tell him some news they knew he didn't want to hear.

Miles, in a slight panic, walked quickly over to the first doctor he saw. "Doctor," Miles said, "I'm Miles Edgeworth. I'm…"

The doctor stared at him. "…The man from the ambulance. Yes, I know who you are, Mr. Edgeworth."

Miles was slightly surprised, but continued onward. "Sir, about my sister…about…Franziska. Is she…all right?" What Miles tried to say, of course, was "Is Franziska _alive_?" However, the chance of that answer being negative brought on more pain than he could even begin to consider.

The doctor looked down. "Mr. Edgeworth, your sister's heart gave out earlier today. Essentially, she had a heart attack, and then her heart failed. She has a severe case of anorexia nervosa. Did you know she weighs in at seventy-three pounds?"

Miles shook his head, astonished. He had felt her in his arms…but seventy-three pounds was…astonishing. "Is she all right, Doctor? Is she alive?"

There. He finally asked the question that had been in his head for the last eight hours.

The doctor stayed quiet and said nothing. Finally, he cleared his throat and stared at Miles slowly. "We were able to restart her heart, and we have given her an IV drip. She is asleep right now, and has suffered severe mental and physical pain, but yes, Mr. Edgeworth, she is alive."

Miles exhaled a long breath, and it took him until then to realize that he had been holding his breath in preparation of the doctor's answer. "Can I see her?"

"You understand that she is asleep, correct?"

Miles nodded. "Yes. I just want to…sit with her."

The doctor nodded his consent, and Miles entered Franziska's hospital room. Franziska was lying in a bed, a white hospital gown draped around her bony body and an IV drip coming out of her arm. Miles pulled out the visitor's chair and placed it next to her and placed his hand on top of hers. Her hand was as bony as a skeleton and as cold as ice, but Miles could feel a faint-but steady-pulse through her hand. He held her hand tightly and squeezed it gently.

"Franziska," Miles whispered to his sister's sleeping form, "I'm here, Franziska. I'm here for you, and I'm never going to leave you ever again."

And as he said this, Franziska's eyes opened slowly. She stared at her brother's body, at the warmth of his hand on hers, and at his promise to never leave her.

She looked up into her brother's eyes and a small, shy smile found itself a way onto her face.


End file.
